


Safe Lack of Distance

by Rinari7



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She feels safest when there's nothing between them--especially not words that can betray feelings. After the incident at the hotel she'd rather not think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Morning After](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967781) by [CuriosityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityComplex/pseuds/CuriosityComplex). 



> Not yet complete.

“There's nothing like a bottle of wine and a couple of teenie chasers to get me talking nonsense.”

 _It's necessary,_ she tried to tell herself. If she didn't quash whatever notions she may have awakened with her all-too-candid words she remembered all-too-well, then…  
_What? What are you so afraid of?_ She had a job and a family to protect, and yet she was already risking them, she knew—had already damaged them, as the bandage on Dylan's fingers and the stain on Theo's tie had shown, as she had never let happen before—and yet she still hadn't stopped. Didn't intend to stop.

  
“I'll go check us out.”  
She stood, feeling Lip's soft eyes on her as she walked away, relieved he was willing to let her have her facade of control back.

 

 _She fought to keep her voice from breaking—because even drunk and alternating between hunched over the toilet and slumped against the bathroom wall, the idea of intentionally letting herself be vulnerable was foreign to her. But god,_ **god** , _she didn't want to think about him happily married to a girl his age, didn't want to end up “the older woman” from his past, to be relegated to a box of “happy mistakes” and stored in his attic somewhere._  
_He smiled, huffed a quiet laugh as she mentioned bidets, and she wanted to kiss him, but she knew nobody wants to kiss someone in the middle of periodically emptying their stomach contents._  


 

They had come in her car—Indianapolis wasn't that far from Chicago, only about a three or four-hour drive—and the trip back began in silence. He pulled out one of his textbooks, flipped through it, read a little, and stared out the window, though she didn't miss his surreptitious glances at her.

“Is something wrong?” She felt herself slowly slipping back into her own, and so her tone wasn't as sharp as it might otherwise have been.

He turned his head towards her. “Y'know, most people I know get more honest when they're drunk.”

“Well, I would certainly _hope_ I'm not like most people you know.”

He huffed his quiet laugh, even if it wasn't very mirthful, and turned towards the window again, shaking his head. “Ah, no. No, you're not.”

  
She nodded, set the turn signal, and pulled into the next rest stop.

"Is there a reason we're--?”

Helene silenced him with a kiss even before she reached to turn the motor off, stroking her tongue against his, telling him in the language they were both familiar with that _yes, she did want him in her life, yes, she did care about him._ It was a language of love and a language of lust, a language which gave her security in its ambiguity, even though she hoped that he knew what she meant.


	2. Chapter 2

She let out a soft hum of pleasure as Lip's hand glided over her breast under her unbuttoned top, thumbing her nipple. He played her like a musician his handmade instrument, with care and precision, a stark contrast to their initial encounter against this same desk.  
“What are you thinking about?” The words were mumbled against her shoulder, somewhere between her neck and the top of her left breast, as his other hand slid lower.  
“You— _mmm—_ you want me to be thinking right now?”  
“No, not really. But it's sexy when you tell me stuff.”  
“In class? If I catch you with glazed— _mh!_ \--with glazed eyes, Mr. Gallagher--” She drew back slightly to arch an eyebrow at him, her warning clear.  
“Nah, people watching isn't my thing.” He smirked, applying more pressure between her legs.

Her gaze sharpened on him and she reached to still his hand. “If anything ever made you uncomfortable, all you had to do was say so. But you didn't exactly seem to mind.”

He shrugged. “I figured I'd try it once. Now I know it's not my thing.”  
“All right.” She examined his expression closely. “I want to make you comfortable.”  
“I got an idea how you could do that.” He moved one of her hands from his back between them and then down.

 *

She kissed him again after they both looked decent. “Maybe I should just tutor you on Gramsci next time you visit me in the office.” Her tone was teasing.

“Is that really necessary? Just tutoring?”  
“No. You were right that first day, you know. If you actually apply yourself, you're quite good at 'calling bullshit'.”

“Been practicing.” He shrugged, slightly, and ran a hand through his hair, and glanced at her. “Most of the time.”

She overrode the urge to sigh—knowing damn well what he was referring to—and kissed him instead, before pointing him towards the door. “Go. You have class. I'm sure Professor Youens appreciates you actively assisting him at teaching now.”  
“Isn't that still supposed to be his job?”  
“You'd be surprised at the benefits of a professor liking you.”  
“I think I got an idea.” And his smile wasn't quite a smirk, and there was a certain softness in his eyes when she caught his gaze, and she turned and sat at her desk so she wouldn't have to look at him anymore.

“I'll come by your room tonight?”  
“Ah, yeah, I'd like that.”

“I'll see you at eight, then.” She risked a smile at his back—not quite the tight, professional one she had intended.  
  


*

She had barely pulled her students' ethics essays in front of herself to start grading when she heard her office door open again.  
“Hello, sweetheart. I brought you coffee.”

“Hello! And thank you, my love.” She lifted her head as Theo bent to kiss her, her lips lifting in a reflexive smile. She scraped her teeth slightly over her lower lip afterward, as if to remove the taste of the ritual, as she turned in her chair to face him. “What brings you here?”  
“I just learned of a conference in Cincinnati next week. One of their speakers had to cancel at the last minute. It would give me an excellent opportunity to present my latest paper on Adler's work.”  
“You should go. It would be an excellent opportunity.”

“I'll let them know this afternoon, then.”

She nodded. “I hope you'll forgive me if I don't accompany you.”  
“I understand completely.”  
She had told him of what had happened at the conference in Indianapolis, and he had held her on the couch for a while as she saw whether the letters did, indeed, contain what the Jesuit has asserted—they did—and after a few sniffles and a glass of wine she began looking up recent works in postmodern critical theory. If he had been surprised at her relatively tame reaction, he didn't say anything then, and they shared the same comfortable silence now.

“I ran into Lip in the hallway.”  
“That seems highly likely.” She tossed her hair slightly, to get it out of her face, and sat back, her head tilted to look up at him.  
“You don't bring him to the house much anymore.”  
“Well, considering the incident with Dylan, I thought it best to spatially separate things a little more. Define clearer boundaries.” She swallowed, eyeing him. It was true, but only part of the truth.  
“The dorms are riskier. I don't think they'll be so lenient a second time, Helene.”  
“We haven't had any issues yet. He has his own room.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded.  
“We've established I know what I'm doing, love. Unless your opinion has changed?”  
“No.” She could detect the hint of a rasp in his voice that betrayed his lie, but she chose to ignore it.

Helene smiled up at him and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm, hazelnut. Thank you, love. I'll be back home around ten, okay?”

“All right. Do you want me to tape that documentary? It starts at nine-thirty.”  
“That would be lovely, thank you.”  
“I'll see you this evening, then.” He leaned down for a quick peck on her lips, and was gone, and she scratched at her wrist as she began grading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know no one wants to see Theo, but he's part of Helene's life so he'll have to stick around for a while. I'll only use him to characterize Helene and Lip's relationship a bit, don't worry. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Helene threw her head back, relishing the feeling of rocking against him. Lip's expression was tense with arousal as he caressed her, and she leaned into his hand, feeling her skin tighten and sensitize at his touch.

And she admitted to herself, in the light of the streetlamp streaming through his window, as she leaned forward to kiss him and they both tensed with release, that she didn't want Theo to see any of this.

 

She curled into him as she rolled off, tucking her head against his shoulder, and he idly curled an arm around her shoulder, tucking the sheet protectively around her with his other hand.  
“Is Dylan's knuckle healed? My bruises are gone.”  
She nodded, drowsily. “He's fine.” A quiet laugh. “I still can't believe you thought we were sleeping together.”  
She felt his shrug.  
“Who I sleep with…” She wanted to say _this isn't exclusive_ , but it wouldn't quite come out, and neither would _it's none of your business_ because that wasn't quite true, at least as far as his own medical risks went. “You don't need to be concerned about it.” Not quite what she wanted to say, but close enough.

  
“Were you jealous, with Tiffany?”  
She hadn't been expecting _that_ question, but she propped herself up on one elbow with a quiet chuckle. “I was surprised. As I said, she isn't memorable. I didn't think...” She shook her head, speaking with deliberation. “I might have been a little disappointed in your choices.”  
“I mean, you asked what I thought about her.”  
She gazed at his face, running one hand through his hair and down his arm, still contented, but the conversation had sobered her. “Do you want me to say I was jealous?”

“Well, yeah, if you were.”  
“Why? Would it change anything?”

He lifted his shoulder again, watching her, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached down to pull her jeans up.  
“You're leaving already?”  
“I told Theo I'd be home by ten.”  
“Oh.”

  
“You can stop by my office tomorrow if you want.”  
“I gotta go check up on my family.” A little quieter: “My sister couldn't afford to keep the house.”  
“Oh my god.” She stopped and turned to face him again, her eyes wide. “I'm so sorry.”  
She bit her tongue to keep herself from offering anything—there would be nothing appropriate about that, no boundaries at all, and she was not prepared for that.  
“Like I said, neighborhood gets nicer—people who grew up there can't afford to live there anymore.”  
She scrutinized him. “They're okay, though?”  
“For now. They're all shacking up with friends, I think.”

  
She pulled her tank top down over herself, and ran a hand over his shoulder as he sat up, and licked her lips to say something, then swallowed it again. There wasn't much of a point--not much she could say, really. She moved to give him room to pull on his underwear and pants as she shrugged her hoodie on.

“I'll, uh, go check to see if the hallway is empty.” He had set a cigarette between his lips, though it wasn't lit yet, and he kept his eyes on the ground.  
“Lip.” She wet her lips again, as she zipped up the hoodie. “I really am sorry.”  
He nodded, still staring at the ground.

“And maybe I was a little jealous.” It was her turn to halfheartedly shrug as she gripped her sunglasses.

 

It might have been selfish—wanting him to look at her again, to see that soft look in his eyes again—or maybe it was simply an attempt to distract him. Either way, his gaze snapped up to her face.

This time it was Helene who was backed up to a wall as he dug his hands into her hair and kissed her with the fierce desperation of a kid partaking of one of the few good things in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse flourishes when I'm under pressure to do other stuff, apparently.
> 
> Also, I noticed I messed up the timeline a bit, since the Gallaghers were thrown out at about the same time as the picture got out, so please forgive me for that.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do I even need to ask who that was?”  
She didn't turn her head from where she sat on the couch to look at Theo as he closed the door behind himself.

 

“I assume you heard most of it, Helene.” He stood to the side of the couch, just in her peripheral vision if she didn't turn her head. She didn't.

“He has no concept of boundaries. I practically had to shove him out of the house.”

“I noticed.” Her voice was quiet, raw. The glass of wine in her hand, her third one already since she had gotten home earlier that day, probably had something to do with that.

 

“How did you let this happen? I thought you knew better. I thought you taught them better. The incident with Dylan was bad enough, but… for heaven's sake.” His tone was quiet, pained, but that didn't mean his words didn't slice with all the precision of someone who knows exactly where it already hurts.

 

“Do you really think that's helping right now?” Her tone was sharp. She was drunk and pissed and feeling sorry for herself, a little bit, and she wasn't concerned about sparing his feelings.

 

“No.” He paused, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets as he regarded her. “But we should talk about this rationally at some point. I'll be upstairs in the den if you need me.”

“I don't suppose he had anything of relevance to say.”  
  
A short pause, and she could see him shaking his head. “No.”  
  
“All right.” She took another sip of her wine, pulled her knees up further onto the couch, and wondered idly when she had stopped entirely believing her husband. Maybe around the time she had stopped believing herself when she said it was just a fling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's episode was essentially... yeah, crushed my heart, and of course it didn't solve anything, but it looks like we still have more in store based on the promo for next episode... So in the meantime, I get to try to write about the parts that break my heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Of course she couldn't avoid the university entirely, before the hearing. If nothing else, she had to deliver her lesson plans and lecture notes to one of her colleagues who would be taking over her class, and pretend she didn't notice the sidelong glances from her peers or the obscene drawings plastered to her office door. She did glare at a student who wolf-whistled at her as she passed him in the courtyard, though he didn't seem to take any notice of it. 

So she had had plenty of time to bask in the effects of Lip's actions when he decided to show up again, as if saying he was sorry and her being seen with him would help anything at all.  
_Don't ever disrespect me in this class again_ , she had said, as if that was the worst he could do. No, he had encroached upon her most private moments, her family—her son—and now upon her career, as if it were inevitable, and she felt deceived. Blindsided, twice in about as many weeks, and she felt the cracks spreading through her armor.

And she hated it when people knocked on glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, not really a "chapter" but I felt it belonged on its own.


	6. Chapter 6

“...while not banned outright, sleeping with students reflects poor judgment on my part. It not only jeopardizes my standing with the university, but compromises the emotional well-being of the student in question.” 

The words flowed easily over her lips, their passage eased by the shot of liquid courage she had downed in her office before the hearing and by the hours before during which she had repeated them over and over until she could say them in a steady, clear—professional—voice, tinged with the appropriate amount of contrition.

She hadn't actually started seeing a therapist. Her first appointment was next week. But after the not-quite-shouting match she'd had with Theo ( _“What happened to you with him, Helene?” “Nothing! And if you had a problem, why the hell did you never say anything?!” “Because you'd have defended him and lied to me—and maybe yourself, I have no clue!--just like you're doing right now!” “I never said I didn't like him! But I didn't change for him, didn't do anything for him that I wouldn't have— there's nothing wrong with caring about a person you're having sex with!”_ ) that had ended with him hunched on the couch in the den and her passed out on the couch in the living room—nobody got the bed when they were fighting—she admitted it might be a good idea.

And the familiarity of the proceeding helped, if she could pretend she didn't feel his earnest gaze on her for the rest of what promised to be a candid, torturous, hearing. Those eyes made her stiffen—she was here for her career, and only that. She preoccupied herself with repeating that to herself— _here for my career—_ and running through her script, practiced so painstakingly for Dr. Arnolds.

The end. A quick wash of relief—almost over, and then she could go home and endeavor to pretend this had never happened—and then he spoke up.  
Him and his fucking gorgeous, brave, rage-inducing mouth.

“It's not a crime to want to fuck!” _No, of course not. It doesn't mean you have to point it out._

She wasn't sure if he was trying to stand up for himself, or for her, or simply because he felt a need to say something. None of it was necessary, or helpful, or--

 _In love?_ All she felt was numb. C _areer—a life's work, life's passion, the life and family that had taken so much effort to build—or a kid?_ A noble thug genius kid, whom she could see gazing at her out of the corner of her eyes-- “Okay?”--as if to coax it out of her. As if one word and his pleading gaze could make her want to throw it all away.  


A palpable silence reigned for several heartbeats, all attention on her. But she had learned something from Indianapolis, and the graceful exit was clear. So fucking clear, and she gathered her things and left as quickly as she could, her eyes on the ground and then staring into nothing in front of her as she endeavored to think about everything but Philip Gallagher.  


* 

That point when everything should be over for now, when relief floods in, that moment has a strange comfort about it that soothes and pries your armor off piece by piece until you're left a puddle on the floor.  
She was relieved, in a way, that Philip never gave her that peace, that he helped her ensure that moment when she melted would stay private—fitting after the incident in question.  


He was persistent, honest, passionate—she should have felt flattered, but she didn't, for all the obvious reasons. _Terminated._ It was a fitting word. Cold, impersonal, clean. A precise scalpel in contrast to the handfuls of buckshot and nails he was firing her way.

And then his voice broke, just a little, and she took a breath and faced him.

She had meant to be professional—she both loved and hated that word—and authoritative, but instead heard a note of pleading in her voice, which she did her best to quickly quash.  
“Don't follow me.” Because he would, most likely, back to her house even, maybe, and it was _really best for everyone if they **terminated the relationship**_ because she was devoted to her career and she had a son his age, for Christ's sake, and he deserved that _girl his own age_ so it was best to start making her _the older woman_ now.

“Don't make this any uglier than you already have.” Because he should have been able to see she was wounded, staggering, angry at both him and herself, wanting to hate him but not quite able. Because there was no good outcome after this.  
  
She was glad she wore waterproof mascara as she pulled out into traffic, and swore to cut down on her alcohol intake the next few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel weird essentially re-writing scenes from the episodes--usually not so much my style--but I guess I started the fanfic that way and it feels kind of incomplete without this scene, soo... yeah.
> 
> More original stuff is coming.


	7. Chapter 7

_...cut down on the wine tomorrow_ , she decided, lying on their bed at home and slowly twirling the stem of a wineglass in her fingers.

She had reassured Theo that he should attend the conference, at least to give his presentation, and so he had flown back out earlier today. She was grateful he hadn't seen her when she came home—because he'd have known she had been crying, and he would have bitten back whatever words he had wanted to say— _there really is something wrong this time, Helene;_ and _you can't kid yourself any more, Helene_ and _I certainly hope it's over now—_ and she would have curled up to him and pretended to be content and comforted, but she had done far too much pretending for one day.

 

Her phone on the nightstand beside her rang, and she stared at it for a moment, debating whether or not to pick up, before she sighed and lifted it to her ear.

“Good evening, sweetheart.” Theo was thoughtful; she couldn't deny that.  
“Hello, love.” The pleased lilt came into her voice without too much force. “How did your presentation go?”  
“Quite well, I think. And the hearing?”  
“They'll 'render a decision shortly'.” She sighed, holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she sat up a little in the bed.

“I asked how it went, not what they said, dear.” His reproach was gentle. “But I won't force you to talk about it.”

  
She took a gulp of her wine before setting it aside on the nightstand. “No, we should talk about it.” Her deep breath was a little shaky. “I was a little too—caught up in it all, I guess, to be able to really analyze it. But I think I'm at a point where I can do that now.”  
“I'm glad you've decided to talk with me again. And be honest with me.” It was one of the tenets of their relationship—absolute honesty—and guilt ran through her.  
“I'm sorry, Theo.”

“I accept your apology. You might want to apologize to Dylan, too, though.”  
She nodded unconsciously, letting out a slight sigh. “I should. I thought I did a decent job of keeping it away from him before, but I guess there's always a first time.”

 

She could envision his nod well. “Yes, there is. I love you, Helene, and I want what's best for you. I don't like seeing your career at risk or you miserable.”  
“I know, Theo. I know.”  
“How did the hearing go?”

“It would have been fine, not much different the other—leave of absence, preparing a statement, terminating contact with the student, with the addition of seeking counseling—and then he had to open his mouth.”  
Theo's silence encouraged her to go on. “He insisted he wasn't a victim, it was consensual, it wasn't wrong, and that we were in love.” She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't hear it in her voice, and she knew he couldn't either.  
“Are you?” She could tell he was trying to keep his tone gentle, but the strain was evident. “And please, don't just tell me what you told the faculty disciplinary committee.”  
She took a deep breath, giving in to the impulse to reach for her wine glass again. “I don't know, Theo, okay? I don't know. I don't intend to see him again, before you ask.”

“So that's the end of it?”  
“I'm not stupid enough to continue to try to see him any more, for his sake and mine. My career and my family are important to me.” A quick laugh, and a little of her usual self-confidence slipped back into her tone. “Besides, we all know this could never be anything serious. He'll find a girl his own age, and I'm with you.”  
  
“I won't lie: it's good to hear that, Helene.”  
“You can't have been seriously worried. What did you think would happen? That I'd leave you for him?”  
“No. But I could tell this was different. You didn't lend any of the others my ties, or take them to our social events, or visit them in the dorms every other night. I support you trying to introduce him to something besides marijuana, graffiti, and rap, or whatever he experienced growing up on the south side. But you did do things for him, and with him, that you didn't do with any of the others.”  
“Maybe I thought he would benefit from them more than the others. He has a lot of potential.”  
“I'm sure he did benefit, love. But that's not the point.”  


She laughed, miserably. “What is the point? It's over.”  
“The point is you. How you feel about it. Maybe taking a lesson or two from it. I want to have this completely resolved so we can move forwards.”

A deep breath again, and a slow exhale. “What is there left to resolve?”  
“What would you do if he came by again?”

“I—well, he won't. I told him not to.”  
“You already know he has no concept of boundaries.”  
“I would send him away.” Said slowly, deliberately, with only a slight tremble in her voice.

“And how do you feel about that?”  
“Jesus, I don't know.” Her voice cracked, and she tilted her head back against the headboard. “I feel terrible thinking about it. He kept on coming after me today. After the hearing. I was angry enough to tell him to stay away then.”

 

“Wh-what does that mean?” Theo's voice was sharp, the slight stutter an indication she had thrown him off-balance.

“I don't know. Maybe I am in love with him. On some level.” It felt refreshing to be direct, bold, but she knew she couldn't take those words back once she had said them—something she found herself strangely unperturbed about.

His tone was guarded, and she cursed inwardly. “And what does that mean?”  
“Jesus, Theo, you can relax. I'm not going to leave you. You're my husband.”

“But you do have… feelings for him.”  
Quietly: “Of some kind, I suppose.”

 

“What do you want to happen now?”  
“I don't know.”

“Let me know once you figure it out, Helene.”  
“I will. Enjoy the rest of the conference, love.”  
“Good night.”

Hanging up, she set her phone on the beside table again. “Jesus,” a slow exhale, feeling the tension in her shoulders.

 

Her head felt light, and she took another sip of her wine to help catch her consciousness up to the pace of her dizzy thoughts. _Care about him—sex was great—we wouldn't work, the age difference—Dylan and Theo—he's in love with me?—my career to consider—I can hardly do anything worse for my career any more—want him around—love him?_ Her mind was on a carousel with no way to stop, no progress to be made.  


She drained her glass of wine and turned off the light, but sleep eluded her.

She hated sleeping pills, and neither tossing nor turning nor attempting to recall trigonometric formulas helped. So with a slight pang of guilt, she let her hands wander over her body—one between her legs—and she came to a vision of Lip, naked, above her. It shouldn't have helped her slip into oblivion with a smile on her face, but it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I wanted to write something that wasn't a re-hash of the last episode, so here it is.
> 
> Yes, I know no one who is going to be reading this likes Theo. Admittedly, though, I think he's a good guy, and this fic is more Helene-centric, so he's going to be in there. (Like I said, I don't feel qualified to write anything deep about Lip or his thoughts. Someone should do that, though, even if I guess the show kind of does that.)


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't a knock, more of a dull thump, as if someone were hitting the door with the flat of their hand. With a sigh, she uncrossed her legs, stood, and moved towards the door. “Jesus, who comes by at this ungodly--” was already falling from her lips, and then her hand stilled on the doorknob as she recognized his voice.

He had been crying or drinking, or maybe both, from the broken, raw tone, and she slumped against the wall in the entryway, tilting her head back. _Brave idiot_. Exasperation flooded over her, that he was putting her in this position, again. That he hadn't _listened_.

Her cell phone was in her pocket, his number still familiar, and she stared at the black words against the too-bright screen. _Didn't I tell you to stay away?_ She erased it.

_You can't go back in time. You and I both know that._ Erased, too.  
_Don't throw away your future._ She might remember that one, but she pressed her thumb to the “backspace” before she was tempted to hover it over “send”, and sighed.

A faint crash startled her, made her start towards the door. Through the sheer curtains, she could see that he was walking away, and she breathed a sigh of relief—whether it was for the fact that he seemed physically unharmed or that he was leaving again or both, she couldn't say.  
  
“What was that?” Theo had emerged from the den upstairs, and she straightened, retreating from the door.  
“I don't know. It sounded like glass breaking.”  
“You think someone broke a window?” He was alarmed, and the last thing she wanted was him making a round of the windows, or going outside to check on the car.  
“No, no. There was a kid or two out on the street—I think it was just a bottle.” _Not a lie,_ she told herself.  
“Are you sure? It sounded awfully loud.”

“Sure enough, dear. I can go check on it, if it makes you feel better.” In fact, she was fairly sure Lip had thrown a bottle at the house, but there was no way in hell she was going to say that, and she simply thanked God Theo's study was at the back of the house and not the front.

He frowned. “No, I'm sure it's nothing. There's no alarm going off.” A short pause, then: “I'm heading to bed. Will you join me soon?”  
“Soon, love.” Her smile was genuine, even if it was habit.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he left for the bedroom, tensed when she realized it looked out onto the street, and slowly let it out again when she didn't hear the telltale creak of that one floorboard near the window.

_That was completely unacceptable. I told you to stay away. And don't yell, for Christ's sake._ She stared at the words on her screen again, mentally counting down until he must be far enough away, her thumb hovering between “delete” and “send”.

Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the wall. _Prob-a-tion-ar-y leave._ She wanted to persuade herself that they couldn't fault her for attempting to achieve the closure he so desperately needed, obviously needed— _in the interest of his mental health—_ but she knew that the board--

No, she didn't know that the board wouldn't agree. With a deep breath, she turned her phone off and headed upstairs to broach the subject with Theo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of an episode re-hash, though we didn't see Helene at all during "Pimp's Paradise" so I feel kind of justified in writing this.  
> Story will go off on its own course from here since Sasha Alexander basically confirmed via Twitter that we won't be seeing any more of Helene in Season 6, which I assume means we won't be seeing more of her at all.


	9. Chapter 9

She swallowed as she strode through the open door into the office of one of the school's counselors, and stopped when she saw Lip already there, watching the door hungrily.

“You look terrible.” It was harsh, perhaps, but true, and her mental filters had momentarily crumbled. His hair was uncombed, his clothes wrinkled, and he smelled vaguely of alcohol.  
“Yeah, no shit, Helene.”

The psychiatrist, one Dr. Schmidt, rose from his desk and locked the door behind her. She watched him, for lack of more comfortable things to look at, though he was nothing special to look at. Beginning to bald, just this side of portly, the kind of guy who isn't quite overweight enough but otherwise looks like he volunteers as Santa for the little kids around Christmastime.

“It's my understanding that the content of these sessions will remain confidential, and that only a recommendation for any further course of action will be given to the committee?”  
“Of course, Dr. Runyon. Please, both of you, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”

She nodded, and set her purse down beside one of the stuffed armchairs, and crossed her legs after she sat down. Lip dropped his bag and coat and slumped into the chair next to her, his gaze glued to her. Dr Schmidt simply sat across from them and observed how they both fidgeted in the silence.

“What do you think we--” “Why the fuck have you--” They both began to speak at the same time, and halted. She turned slightly in her chair to look at him, fighting the urge to swallow and sitting up straighter as she met his soft, wounded, hungry eyes.

“Continue, Lip.”  
“Why the fuck wouldn't you talk to me?”  
“Do you think the disciplinary committee would take kindly to any kind of casual contact? Do you think I was even inclined to talk to someone who plastered a picture of me, _naked_ , all over the Internet?!” Her voice rose, and she at least endeavored to keep it cold.  
“I didn't—I didn't do that. I—this girl, an ex. She got ahold of my phone while I was in the shower. I guess she still knew my phone password. I _never_ intended for anyone to see that.”

“Yes, but why did you take it in the first place? Without my permission? What were you thinking?!” She flexed her hands in her lap, when what she really wanted to do was reach out and shake him, vigorously.  
“I don't know! It was stupid, I know that now!” He spread his hands, his eyes darting here and there before returning to her. “I—I thought you looked beautiful. And I wanted to—save that, somehow.”

She swallowed, looking away, with a small nod. “I believe you.” She had known, somewhere, that he wouldn't intentionally hurt her, despite all empirical evidence to the contrary.  
“Please, just tell me what to do to fix this. I'll do anything, Helene.”  
“You can't _fix_ this. You can't just kiss it and make it better!” Bad choice of words, maybe, but she forged ahead anyways. “You and I both know that.” She shook her head. “I've already sent out requests for various sites to take the picture down, but the damage has already been done.” It still simmered, under the surface somewhere. Hurt and anger that was still able to spill over and sear whatever it came into contact with.  
“I—I just want things to be okay between us again. I want you to actually talk to me again. I want to see you--”

“ _Lip_. We can't--” She took a deep breath. “Look, the sex was amazing. And I like you.” Her slight smile was pained. “But this can't continue. I have my life, and you have your own future, and--”  
“Don't give me that bullshit! We were fine! You never cared about any of that shit before!”

She examined her hands. “I've seen the error of my ways.”  
“No, you're just scared of it biting you in the ass again. Look, I get it. But it's bitten me in the ass, too—I lost my RA job and my room, for fuck's sake!--and I'm not scared! I want this to work again.”  
Inhale, a glance at Dr. Schmidt, who was staring at her over his clipboard. “Therapy doesn't help if you're not honest, Professor Runyon.”

She looked out the window, though there wasn't much to see—more gray campus buildings. “I am afraid of further consequences. I've worked my _whole life_ to get to where I am right now, and I've taken enough risks. I don't want to lose everything—which is what I stand to lose as it is.”  
“Look, I'm sure we can work something out. Meet out of town, or something--”  
She cringed inwardly, and maybe a little outwardly. “ _Mi_ -ster Gallagher. At some point you'll have to learn to simply take 'no' for an answer and move on.”

“Just tell me you don't love me, and I'll leave.” He stood, moved to stand in front of her. Dr. Schmidt cleared his throat, but didn't actually say anything. “ _Tell me_ , Helene.”  
“It wouldn't change anything.”  
“Hell yes it would, and you know it.” She was almost sure there was still a good deal of alcohol in his system.

She closed her eyes, averting her head. He moved to stand in front of her again. “If it doesn't matter, then why can't you just say it?” He lifted his arms in exasperation, shaking his head. “You know, I never thought you were a coward.”  
She stared at him, her eyes narrowed, fighting the urge to stand herself to face him. “I did not throw you to the wolves, so don't act like I did. _You_ did that—or your vengeful ex—is she even an ex?” She shook her head.“I thought—I thought talking would be good. I should have known better.”

“That's not an answer.”  
“To what?”  
“Stop fucking acting like you don't know what I'm talking about! That night—in the hotel, remember?”  
“I thought I told you--”  
“You told me bullshit! Isn't that what your whole thing is, huh? That—that thing you 'devoted your life to'? Calling bullshit?”  
She narrowed her eyes at him, speaking deliberately with authority, as if she were in class. “It wouldn't change anything, because an adult's first priority is not the butterflies in their stomach.”

The psychiatrist's notes could hardly be legible, considering the pace he was taking them at, but they hardly paid him any mind.

“This isn't--” Lip lifted a hand, gesturing tensely. “God, Helene, how many times do I gotta say it before you get it? I'm in love with you. I love you. Fuck!” He turned away, stilling at the sight of the white-haired man. “Tell her, doc. Tell her this shit matters, too!”

Dr. Schmidt tilted his head, examining Lip. He spoke quietly. “Many long-term relationships have been broken up because one or the other party experiences deep feelings for someone new. This is not in all cases a positive development, but the pursuit of happiness is indeed a high priority for people of all ages.”  
“Ah, c'mon!” Lip looked frustrated.  
“You can't seriously be implying I should leave my husband of twenty-three years and the father of my son for a student—ex-student, doctor.” Helene's tone was sharp.  
“I think the fact that you instigated this meeting means you need some kind of resolution, yourself.”

“This—was your idea?” Lip's voice drew her attention back to him.  
“I couldn't have you coming around again and yelling and throwing things at my house at severely inappropriate hours of the night. Jesus, what were you thinking?”  
“You weren't talking to me! What else was I supposed to do?”  
“You sounded practically drunk out of your mind.”  
“I knew you were there! I knew you heard me! I fucking knew it!” He was pointing at her, biting his lip.  
“You were lucky Theo didn't go outside and then call the police! Get your act together!”  
“You were the one who fucked it up the first place!”

She glared at him incredulously. “You're saying _I made_ you drink and engage in what could very well be construed as vandalism. I found the glass.”  
  
“Yeah. You were the one sneaking around, treating me like your little lapdog, jump when you call, and I did _whatever_ you said, whatever you wanted me to. I let you husband watch when it was fucking creepy, and I sat with you when you were puking your guts out, and—and then you just—you treat me like nothing ever happened, like I meant nothing to you. Toss me out with the trash. Hell yes, it's your fault if I'm shitfaced and half out of my mind.” He pointing at her now, no longer caring who else was in the room, his face contorted in a storm of emotions.  
  
_Schiele, that angst_ —strange, what occurs to you in the most inopportune of moments.   
She set her jaw. “You did not respect me, or respect any boundaries. You continued to follow and harass me after I explicitly told you not to. You show up at my house at all hours of the day or night, without calling. You beat up my son because you _assumed_ I was _sleeping_ with him—you took a naked picture of me without my permission that may very well have ruined my career! You have disrespected me in _so_ many ways, and then have the audacity to imply I am unjustified in refusing to have anything to do with you anymore! If you _had_ respected me a little more, we wouldn't be here!”

He inhaled deeply, still staring at her. “You said we were okay about that thing with Dylan.”  
“That doesn't change the fact that what you did was deeply wrong on multiple levels. I believe it was _also_ tacitly agreed that we wouldn't speak of the conference again, either.” She gazed at him steadily, though her cheeks and neck felt hot and flushed from anger.

“What precisely happened—you mentioned he beat up your son, Dr. Runyon?”  
She exhaled slowly, turning her attention to the psychiatrist, briefly wondering why he had allowed them to essentially have a shouting match during what was supposed to be a guided therapy session. “Yes. He came to my house late one evening while my son was visiting from Yale. Perhaps Mr. Gallagher can explain what he was doing there when I had specifically told him I would not be available that evening." She glanced at Lip, briefly, though only her eyes moved. "He apparently assumed that Dylan—my son—was another of my flings and fought with him, physically.”  
“And you didn't terminate the relationship then?”  
“It seemed to be a misunderstanding. He apologized.”  
“Him being--?”  
“Mr. Gallagher.” Lip had meanwhile moved to take a seat, listening, bracing his elbows on his knees. It was somehow more unnerving than when we was close, emotional, looking as though he was going to grab her, shake her, kiss her, and yet calming at the same time.

“And you didn't take it as a sign that perhaps Mr. Gallagher was becoming quite attached to you?”  
She glanced out the window again. “I suppose I didn't see the harm in it, if he was. I wasn't seeing anyone else; he and my husband seemed to have come to a friendly understanding; I didn't have any plans to end the relationship.”

“Why were you there, Mr. Gallagher?”  
“I—See, there was this guy in my dorm—God, this is stupid.”  
“I'd very much like for you to continue. Nothing you say here is stupid.” He had a soothing tone, a gentle manner. The kids at Christmas probably loved him.  
“A guy from my dorm said I should find another girl. Said word was going around Professor, ah Professor Runyon had another guy and was going to drop me. I got—I didn't think it was true, y'know, but I had to--”  
He swallowed, and she glanced at him—and kept gazing.  
“I had to see for myself, y'know.”  
“Why did you need to see for yourself?”  
“I mean, I know I'm not her first fling, or whatever. But...” He shrugged.

Lip was looking at Dr. Schmidt, talking to him, honest, engaging, unaware of her scrutiny. She could see the emotions leaking through their seals again in the flicker of his eyelids, the flexing of his fingers, a slow release of tension as he talked.  
She looked down at her lap, rubbing her palms together, when she noticed the psychiatrist glancing at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long scene, at least for me.  
> Maybe therapists are cliche, but it seemed appropriate here.  
> More to come.


	10. Chapter 10

“How did it go?”  
“How did what go?” Helene looked up from her book, The Surgeon, a thriller she was loathe to put down, towards her bedmate.  
“The therapeutic session today.”

She sighed, setting a bookmark in between the pages and folding the book shut. “I can't say that anything was really resolved. But it was a beginning. I don't think he'll be shouting at the house at all hours of the day or night anymore.”  
“Will there be more such sessions?”  
“I think so, yes.”  
“How many do you think it will take to resolve it all?”  
“I don't know.”

“Helene, I don't think this will be resolved until you figure out what you want out of all this.”  
“I want…” She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she spoke slowly. “I want things to go back to the way they were. Before...” she gestured, shaking her head. “before this whole fiasco. Preferably without the implicit risk to my career, or the… various disturbances.”  
She couldn't read his expression, and so she set the book aside, running one hand soothingly over his shoulder. “You and he got along well, didn't you?”  
“While he knew where he stood in our lives.”  
She nodded, quietly.

“Loyola--” she suppressed an ironic smile “has an opening for a sociology professor. It's a five-year contract, with the possibility of tenure later. I've begun preparing an application.”  
“The committee hasn't decided yet.”  
“Honestly, Theo, how do you honestly think they'll rule?” She smiled slightly, arching an eyebrow at him. Slightly more seriously: “It wouldn't change anything besides our morning coffee breaks and my commute.”  
“It's certainly a viable option. You would likely do well to start looking for openings.”  
“You have your place. I don't intend to make us move because I damaged my own career and reputation.”  
“Somewhere in New England might also be an option. We could stand being closer to Dylan, and there are excellent universities there.”  
“I don't know if he'd want us closer, and he won't be there for more than a few more years.” She smirked slightly. “Of course I'd love to see him more, but he's doing well on his own. It is always an option, though, if you want me to look there.”   
His cheek was warm under the chaste press of her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love drisles' amazing crossover, that's not what I have mind. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I try to avoid writing about Lip in detail because I don't feel qualified. (I honestly only started watching because of Helene/Sasha and now I watch a little because of him, but slogging through 4 seasons of drugs and poverty and kids and depressing things is not my cup of tea. I hope dedicated fans of the series will forgive me.) Still, it's kind of hard to avoid writing about him in this ship (which I've fallen in love with despite myself) so I hope I've done him justice.
> 
> Many thanks go to CuriosityComplex for her post encouraging more people to write for this ship, and for her own story which kind of inspired this one, at least as far as the theme/jumping-off point goes.
> 
> Also I suck at tagging so feel free to suggest ones you think might fit.


End file.
